


enough for seven

by peeves



Category: Shameless (US)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:45:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3342356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peeves/pseuds/peeves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set in season 4</p>
            </blockquote>





	enough for seven

**Author's Note:**

> i've literally never written fic before oh my god i'll be grateful if anyone even reads it.

The groceries landed on the floor with a thud. Fiona checked her phone and blew her hair out of her eyes. 5:54 PM. 

“Guess who’s making spaghetti tonight? How ‘bout that, hm?” she grinned fondly in the direction of the high chair as she rummaged through the plastic bags, pulling out frozen vegetables. “It’s not every day we actually get to eat something that doesn’t come straight out of the can, right?” 

Obviously Debbie had taken care of the dishes, because the pot wasn’t crusted with leftover mac and cheese, nor were there half melted plastic figurines. Fiona filled the pot halfway with tap water and set it to boil. 

The spaghetti sauce was in a can, but give her a break, she’s adding vegetables. She broke off chunks of broccoli and carrots, setting them aside to defrost. Pulling out an onion, knife, and barely-used cutting board, she prepared the onion for chopping. Less than 30 seconds later, she felt an unbearable sting in her eyes, shut them tightly, and subsequently dropped the knife. 

“Shit! Shit, fuck, shit,” she yelped, hopping on one foot away from the knife. She was reminded of a dead body on her bed and her family taking turns to cut off a fucking toe, but she still had all ten of hers, thank god. 

“Shit, onions really do make you cry, don’t they?” she said with a laugh, picking the knife up from the floor and resuming her cooking. Fifteen minutes later, she had a pot filled with noodles and vegetables, and a pan sizzling with onions and spaghetti sauce. 

“Dinner!” she yelled towards the staircase. Silence. 

“Debbie! Carl! Set the table!” she yelled again. Silence. 

Sighing, Fiona pulled out five plates from the cupboard, and a smaller plastic one for Liam. Hell, she was feeling amiable, and even took out an extra plate for Frank. 

“Sometimes, we just gotta do things by ourselves, right buddy?” she commented to the empty high chair. She separated the spaghetti into the seven plates, but one had noticeably more than the rest. 

“Ian gets more because he’s working out all the time.” 

Fiona balanced all six plates on her forearms, one of her many skills picked up from bartending the club, and made one trip back to the counter for the seventh smallest plate, placing it on the high chair’s table. Taking a seat, she yelled again at the staircase. “Guys, dinner!”

Silence. 

It was so quiet she swore she could hear her heart beating. No. She could feel her heart rate increasing, and each breath she took was shallower than the last. No.

“Dinner!” she tried again. Silence. 

“No, no no…” she muttered to herself, hands curling into fists. “No, no, no, no,” she whispered. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. 

She didn’t want to think about Lip away at college, finally getting the education a brain like his deserved. She didn’t want to think about the times she reached for her phone only to put it back into her pocket, because he was probably too busy for his big sister. She didn’t want to think about Ian, who left without saying goodbye and was god knows where, not Ian and his cryptic texts assuring her he was fine. He was fine, they were all goddamn fine. Not Debbie, who wore more make up and less layers of clothing with each passing day. Not responsible, smart Debbie, shooting biting remarks at her, bubbling with teenage resentment. Not Carl, not his incessant care for Frank no matter how many times his older siblings tried to warn him. Stubborn, naïve Carl, causing disaster with every bad judgment call. Carl was allowed to make bad judgment calls. Fiona wasn’t. Especially not when it came to Liam. 

Not Liam, fuck, not Liam. Why did he have to be in the living room? Why was he there? Why did he have to be there? She lost track of him for one moment, and he was gone. 

Hands shaking, Fiona pushed herself away from the table filled with enough food for seven people. 

One careless moment, and he was gone. 

Back against the washing machine, she slid to the ground, feeling her ankle monitor against the back of her thigh. 

They were all gone. 

She began to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> i can't remember when fiona's curfew is, so i assumed it's 6pm. 
> 
> also this was written in like thirty minutes i'm sorry it probably could have been better if i spent more time on it but it's 2:37 am and i need to go to bed and i couldn't wait until tomorrow 
> 
> (ianschin.tumblr.com) any feedback at all would be appreciated!


End file.
